The End?
by Dysfunctional Hyena
Summary: A direct continuation from the second movie. Three years later Watson finishes writing the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, only to find the very much alive Holmes in his study moments later. Rating subject to change
1. What Will You Do Now?

The End?

Chapter I – What Are You Going to do now?

"Holmes" Holmes jerked his head up from the typewriter to meet Watson's eyes. Mary was standing just behind him, her mouth slightly agape. Holmes straightened up.

"Watson, I trust you've received my package?" He said, holding his hands behind his back and giving off a smile. Gladstone poked his head up and scurried from his spot on the floor out the doorway and past Mary. Watson looked rather breathless, Holmes noted. Perhaps he was happy to see him after all? Holmes's lip twitched at the thought.

"I thought…you let us all believe you were dead!" Watson said, stepping closer. His tone was a bit sharp, however laced with underplayed worry and relief. Holmes's eyes flickered between Watson and Mary. The lady seemed to have finally grasped a hold of her consciousness and was now eyeing Holmes back with an uneven stare. He raised an eyebrow, assuming it was his rather pompous attire. Although he believed it to be very useful and useful was exactly what it had proven to be. He redirected his field of vision to Watson.

"It was necessary, dear Watson." A flicker caught his attention. _'Ah…I saw that._' He thought as Mary's hands slightly tightened around the handkerchief it appeared she had pulled from her sleeve. And this was very well possible; the sleeve was wide enough to house a handkerchief.

"You left me." Watson insisted his cerulean eyes never left Holmes for a second as he took a step closer. Holmes moved around the desk and away from the typewriter. Watson strolled up to Holmes until their chests were almost touching. And there they stood, face to face. "And why are you in my house dressed like _that_?" Watson's brows furrowed as he expressed his distaste. Holmes bounced on the tips of his toes for a moment explaining,

"Don't you remember? Urban camouflage." His voice emitted hardly above a whisper. Watson lifted his chin, as if to disregard the fact and Holmes locked his eyes with the doctor. Finally, Watson sighed,

"Oh why must we fight? Come here." Watson embraced Holmes awkwardly in a hug. As Watson's weight shifted, Holmes found himself bending about an inch or so backwards. His face still bore traces of surprise as he raised his arms to his friends back, discomfited by such a close touch in front of…

"John…" Mary's voice emitted from the doorway. _'Oh yes Watson, don't forget about your dear wife.'_ Holmes scowled amongst his thoughts. Watson's grip lessened at the sound of Mary's voice. He pulled off of Holmes, a bit slower than usual, Holmes caught. There was also a certain air about him, he had shaved, the scent of the cream still lingered. But there was a slight nick on his cheek, as if lost in thought over that particular patch of skin. His waistcoat was clean and as wrinkle free as ever. Holmes's eyes flickered over the waistline of Watson's trousers at the mid-stomach and noted a particular looseness, he should've expected, Watson didn't have his gun on him. How many days had it been since the service, maybe a week? It had been delayed an awful long time. And Watson had already fallen out of his old habits. A sliver of Holmes felt crushed. He was brought back to earth when Watson addressed him. Clearly, Watson had dismissed Mary from the room. Now the two of them stood, some distance apart. Watson must have walked to Mary and comforted her before sending her politely away.

"Holmes…" Holmes snapped his head up to look at Watson's eyes, nodding in response. "What are you going to do now?" Holmes turned so he looked out the window.

"Go back to Baker Street." Watson made a slight movement as if to join his friend, but decided against it.

"And what are you going to do there? Everyone thinks you're dead." Holmes held his hands behind his back and glanced down at the carriages and people below.

"What else am I to do?" He turned and looked at Watson. Walking past him, he patted his friend on the shoulder. "You know where to find me. I haven't left this case entirely untouched." Watson grabbed a hold of Holmes's wrist and looked at him. Holmes paused; the level of emotion that he felt reverberating beneath Watson's hands bothered him. He opened his mouth and whispered, "See me later, if you must." Watson relinquished his grip on Holmes and stood, his brows furrowed again and Holmes walked from the room.

Down the pine-lined walls of the hall and to the immediate right was Watson and Mary's bedroom. Holmes wrinkled his nose as he let himself inside and past the heavy, dark stained door. The very atmosphere was displeasing in this floral room. To think…the things to be done-no-that _had_ been done in this very location. Shrugging away the peeve, Holmes quickly opened the wardrobe and found some of Watson's shirts. His fingers danced over the linen until he settled on one at the very end. No doubt Watson would notice. Holmes pulled a pair of trousers over his camouflage and the shirt over his head; he made haste and slipped on a pair of Watson's Waukenfast leather boots as well.

Holmes shuffled swiftly out of t he room and back down the hall, he peeked around the broad doorway into the study. Watson had resumed his seat at his desk, his head was in his hands and Mary was bending over him, slightly at the waist as if to preserve her elegance. Holmes snorted quietly. She was probably whispering her venom-filled words in his ear. Picking up his feet, he quickly and silently manoeuvred around the doorway and down the rest of the pine-wood hall until he reached a flight of steps. The steps descended in a slight spiral formation and led directly to the front door. There was a runner that followed the stairs down, as if to muffle any sort of noise. Several of Watson's coats hung, along with a few of Mary's shawls, on a black wrought iron rack by the door. Holmes skipped down the stairs hurriedly and nabbed one of Watson's smaller coats. It was like it was kept waiting for him. Perhaps Watson was still under his influence after all. Holmes smiled to himself before shouldering the garment and flipping the collar up, then letting himself out the door and back into the busy streets of London. _'Now…'_ he thought to his self, looking around and drinking in the new sight, _'what will I do next?'_

_Watson looked up from his spot at the typewriter. Mary had gone downstairs for one reason or another, he couldn't remember. __'Something about bringing me a treat is what I recall' __thought he. He ran his hand over his eyes, the furiously rubbed at them with the heel of his palms until stars popped in his vision. Mary walked in with a small cake and tea on a tray. Watson couldn't help but smile softly. "Not now, love, we'll be heading to out dinner soon." She set the tray on the edge of his desk and smiled, seating herself in his lap and purred._

_"Oh but what's the harm with a little treat?" _


	2. I See Everything

_Chapter II – I See Everything_

Holmes manoeuvred his way around the heavy streets of London. His feet tapping on the dank concrete that made up the streets echoed among the footsteps of the everyday hustle bustle of these roads. A couple to his right passed, the lady was giggling at something her husband had said. Two men behind them were arguing over something while three others looked on with bored expressions. A woman to his left passed carrying a small basket of bread, she stumbled slightly and her hat fell forward to cover her eyes. The man behind her shouted as a horse drew into the scene as it pulled a wagon. She was bumped by several bodies moving to rid themselves of the horse's deadly path and she ended up falling to the ground. On Holmes's right people kept walking, some turned their heads to the commotion, eyes glinting with the excitement of the new event. Holmes's mind sped. _Top hat, pocket watch, parasol…unless…_ He came to an abrupt halt. The woman had lowered her parasol and turned to help the lady with the bread. Holmes caught the brief flash of silver before striding forward towards the girls. The woman with the parasol had her hand on the bread woman's shoulder as if comforting her. She was a very nicely dressed lady. An atypical amethyst print shone beneath her gray overcoat. Even in large crowds she'd draw the eyes of nearly every notable person around her. The lady's fair, blonde hair was done up, she appeared very wealthy; and Holmes new for a fact, she was. Her husband had calmed the other man and redirected the carriage, or so the crowd would think. Holmes eyed the husband as he walked to join arms with his wife and assist in talking to the woman with the bread. The woman was gently fidgeting her shoulders back and forth in an almost childlike fashion. Holmes slid closer and eyed the couple warily. The woman turned to her husband and excitedly attempted to ruffle through his breast pocket for something. He gently nudged her away and shuffled through it himself. _There…_ Holmes picked up speed as he gently tore through the crowd of people, mostly whom had gone back to their own business; his target, that man. _Alright, now pick up the speed, if you hit him exactly right then there's a better chance neither of you will be harmed. If timed incorrectly then the weapon could be damaged, and unwontedly hit its mark. _

The collision had already been thought out in Holmes's mind. He strode forwards, quickly gaining speed, just as he would pass the couple, he would trip, knocking the gentleman to the sidewalk. The gentleman would probably yell at him, Holmes would stand up and confront his culprit, then be on his way…quickly.

So commenced the steps Holmes took, the dim echo of his shoes off the sidewalk inaugurated, their drops picking up frequency until about one meter away. Here he readjusted his posture, gathered up his strength and charged; although to everyone else around it would seem like a miscalculation of footing. The shoulders of the two men collided harshly. Some bruising and soreness, but no other injuries should be suffered, Holmes reasoned. The man stumbled, the glint of silver appeared again and Holmes picked it up from his peripheral vision in the briefest of moments. Tucking his arm in slightly and rotating his hips, Holmes had twisted the falling duo slightly more, and Holmes felt the cold steel brush his side.

"Oh, so sorry~" Said Holmes as he picked himself up. As predicted, the man shouted at Holmes, although the inspector wasn't paying attention. He called over some nearby policemen, and spoke to them briefly. They took the arms of the gentleman and Holmes pulled the knife from his gloves. "An attempted assassination of your own wife in public, well thought out, however, incontinently timed. As well as your little slip with the police last night landed you prime suspect. Now, I don't have time for these games." He turned to the officers and nodded. They locked the man into custody and Holmes was left where he stood. No doubt Lestrade would demand some answers later. But that was to deal with when the time came.

Nodding to himself, he felt a job most certainly well done. Turning around, he sped right down the rest of the route to Baker Street. Skipping up the steps, he kicked the door in. It sped open and ricocheted off the wall behind it with a bang. Strolling in, he started to undo the buttons on Watson's coat. "Nanny~ are you here Nanny?" he called, kicking the door shut behind him again. Mrs. Hudson strode out from the kitchen and sighed.

"How good to see you." She remarked sarcastically, sighing and fixing a loose bit of hair.

"How jolly good indeed." Holmes remarked back. He held out Watson's coat of a second, as Mrs. Hudson reached a hand out for it, he snapped it back. "Actually, I think I'll be keeping this for now." He gave a shifty-as-ever smile and started his decent up the stairs, "Bring some tea will you, Nanny?" he called as he hopped up the steps. He stood gallantly, although standing as if mocking the word gallant all together, at the platform looking at Mrs. Hudson who stood at the foot of the stairs. "You know where to find me" And with that, he turned and slammed the door to his study.

"You'd do well to stop slamming doors!" she shouted back at Holmes, then turned and pinched the bridge of her nose in an oncoming headache.

Up in his study, Holmes stood with his back to the door. His expression was neutral, lost in thought. The steady rise of his chest barely showed beneath Watson's shirt. Slowly, he took a step forward, listening to the echo on the cold, wooden floors. Something didn't feel right. The echo of his step lingered in the room, like the dust particles that floated around the air, but were only visible in front of the window. He needed something to distinguish this oddity. His muscles slid beneath skin as he leapt into action, darting across the room, he raffled through papers. His eyes skimmed various cases that went solved, unsolved or partially solved. Or maybe those that were unsolved were solved in Holmes's own head. His eyes darted over words, wait…it wasn't here. Dropping the papers, he turned to one of the many chairs. The chair was one of familiarity, as everything in his study was. But as much as the room changed, Holmes was always sure to leave the chair there. Slowly, he paced over to the fixture and ran a rough hand over its surface. The oak frame was worn and soft. Knots from the branches used to make the chair shone slightly beside the curls and carvings of the natural material. He ghosted his hand over the red satin cushion, also worn from use.

That' right…Watson wouldn't be around anymore.

Holmes stood for a moment, his hand still in the barest contact with the chair. He soon came to when he felt the sadness weighing at his expression. He coughed and looked around, ensuring no one had infiltrated on his…hardly emotional moment. Well then, back to business. He jumped as he heard a knock on the door. _Odd…I must really be out of it today_ he thought as he turned and let Mrs. Hudson in. "Here's your tea…" she said, putting the tray on a table. Holmes looked at her for a moment, and then she scurried out before he could say anything about something else she could do.

Sighing, Holmes turned and walked to the other side of his study. Here stored a great amount of books, mainly sprawled among the floor. Most of them Holmes had written all over in his own curvy scrawl. _Found naturally in the stones of cherries, plums and peaches, the cores of apples and the leaves of the laurel plant, cyanide evolved as a plant protection…_ Holmes dug himself further into books as the evening sun set farther past the essential perfume that was London.


	3. Your Promises Look Like Lies

Chapter III – Your Promises Look like Lies

A/N: Reminder, this is in the romance genre~ I know it might not look like it, but this is a romance between Holmes and Watson~ =w= just in case you've forgotten or didn't catch that.

Watson walked through the smoke of the remaining flames of the explosion. His suit was tattered and singed. Holmes lay face down in rubble, his arms raised to cover his face and his body curled to the side. A rough hand pulled him up and shook the dust from his body. He gasped and forced his eyes open. There was no face in front of him, just flames taking what he grasped away. Those bright lights of red and gold that curled with the black soot like a dragon curled around his heart and stole it away. Holmes stiffened and his muscles tensed. Opening his mouth to shout the name, he heard his voice. "Holmes, Holmes, **Holmes**" He shook his head and looked up. Watson's bright blue eyes were the light of his vision. He tightened his grip on Watson's sleeve and sighed, letting his body relax and his head fall against Watson's chest. Hardly, he managed to whisper, "Always good to see you, Watson."

"And how good to see you." Holmes jerked awake and looked around his study. Watson was standing in the door way, his face was quite stern but had a small, glowing aura around it as if he were secretly happy. "Were you dreaming of me?" He asked, dropping his hat and coat to the chair he always sat in. Holmes shook himself to his feet and looked around. He had fallen asleep in the midst of a pile of books. The ink pen he had been using was spilt across some papers. Watson picked up the fountain and pen and placed it upright on a shelf, then shook the ink from his fingers. Hardly turning, Holmes reached behind him and grabbed a hold of a rag, then tossed it to Watson. Holmes was still baffled from sleep and shaken form his dream.

"No, of course I wasn't. Why would you think I was dreaming of you?" His eyes skittered across the room, finally landing on Watson's hands as he clutched the rag.

"You greeted me in your sleep, Holmes." Holmes shook his head and scoffed,

"I was not sleeping! I was merely…"

"Resting your eyes?" Watson finished, smirking. He crossed the room to Holmes and spared him a glance. Holmes narrowed his eyes, it's like he's teasing! Watson stood next to the tea, "Your tea is cold."

"I-I know that!" Holmes retorted. The moon has raised and I haven't even noticed. What has gone wrong in my mind? And I didn't even hear Watson enter, nor Mrs. Hudson. Am I…losing my touch? Holmes looked up at Watson who stood stiff. All amusement had left his face and absolute concern and suspicion covered it.

"Holmes…you don't look well." He was right, Holmes's complexion had paled and his eyes seemed to sag more than the usual slight dark spot. Although Holmes's exhaustion wasn't much compared to his work, he hadn't been sleeping well in a long time, ever since Watson started courting Mary, in fact.

"I'm fine." Holmes said, shaking his head. "More to the case, what are you doing here?" Watson raised an eyebrow.

"I'm here to see you. I thought you were dead, now that you're not I can say I'm…"

"You're so incredibly ecstatic that I'm alive that you'll come here and shower me with your compliments and happiness only to skip off and marry that woman? Well let me reassure you I don't need to hear it, Watson." Holmes looked at Holmes with inquiry, as if to waiting for him to challenge what he had said. But by the look on Watson's face, he got it spot on. Fantastic, he still had it. Watson squirmed a bit, before taking a few steps closer to Holmes,

"You're kicking me out?" The voice echoed in his head again, Holmes…

"…perhaps…" Watson's face fell. He sighed through his nose and tapped his finger on the top of his walking stick and his lips drew to a fine line. He only does that when he's nervous…Holmes noted.

"In that case, I'd hate to intrude any further. You were obviously busy over there sleeping!" He's voice is louder and harsh, he must be feeling some sort of inner, pent up frustration.

"Yes! In fact I was very busy! I have many cases to solve." Watson paced back over to the tea as Holmes held his hands behind his back.

"Oh you mean like the one you solved on the street just this morning? Yeah, Lestrade caught me on my way down and bloody well interrogated me about your actions. I was delayed half an hour because you were as sloppy as to leave your case apart in pieces! Did you even realize that that man was friends with the police who arrested him? He's out now and it's all thanks to your own bloody so called deduction!" Holmes couldn't even look at Watson, any part of Watson. He felt like a kid being scolded, and he felt weak for his mistakes. "What happened, Sherlock?" Holmes tensed and turned on Watson.

"What happened? Absolutely nothing Watson, absolutely nothing is wrong with my life, my world, or my head!" He enunciated as he walked until they were nearly nose to nose again so he didn't have to raise his voice. He never raised his voice, and Watson knew this. "I am not some mental case you need to put away. I am an inspector, a detective, whatever you may and you were my partner. That is until you decided to frolic amongst the land of romance and flowers and unicorns and whatever the hell you call it…"

"Marriage" Watson corrected, almost baring his teeth towards Holmes.

"…yes that." Holmes continued. "That is, as I've told you, I no longer require your services as you kick up your heels along with your smart fiancée~" He did a little mock hop to put more weight on the word as he let it roll off his tongue. "You two enjoy yourself in your barbaric way of life." The words echoed across the room as Holmes whispered in Watson's face. The tension hung in the air like spider webs with both of them trapped in the very middle of it.

Watson broke the atmosphere as he drew his fist across Holmes's face. A slight crunch was heard as the force of his knuckles collided with Holmes's cheekbone. Holmes looked up at his friend, blood trickled from his mouth and a dark bruise was forming beneath his eye. The two men looked at each other, shooting daggers for a moment before they uniformly began to laugh. Holmes let his hands grasp Watson's collar as he leapt at him, knocking both of them to the floor. The detective and doctor shook at each other, throwing punches and kicks whenever there was an open spot. The two quarrelled and wrestled, trying to get at each other. Watson's walking stick had fallen to the floor when Holmes first hit him down.

"I don't want to put up with your views on marriage! You aren't the one whose getting married you bastard!" Watson shouted as he turned Holmes to the floor.

"You're right! I'm just going to die alone after you leave me." Holmes hissed up to Watson. Watson swallowed as he looked down at the man below him. Holmes sternly held his gaze. He could tell the slight guilt was wearing at his heart.

"This isn't all about you, you selfish bastard." Watson said sternly. They had stopped aiming at each other now, even though they were both holding each other's throats and in…compromising positions. Holmes's voice fell to a pitch hardly above his own breathing.

"This isn't all about me…John." Watson's breathing hitched briefly as Holmes hardly spoke his first name.

"Then…let's be done with it." Watson stood up and pulled Holmes with him. Holmes nodded to Watson then fixed his own sleeves, readjusting the loosely worn shirt over his body. Watson turned and went to pick up his walking stick. Holmes turned and grabbed it for him, handing it to his friend. Watson looked at Holmes quizzically before accepting it. Holmes offered a smile, although both knew that it was false. Watson smiled briefly back before tugging at the end of his sleeves to straighten the wrinkles out. Holmes took the liberty of flattening Watson's sleeves as well, and then ran his hands across the broad shoulders and down Watson's chest to flatten the waistcoat. Both men held each other's eyes as Holmes tugged at the pocket chain. He clicked the small silver mechanism open and ran his thumb over the glass face. A slight glance down told him it was twenty two hundred. "You should get going, Watson." Watson's bright eyes never left Holmes's as he said.

"Yes, you're right. Mary will worry." Although the emotional reaction to her name was suppressed to the best of Holmes's ability, there was a slight scrunch at the bridge of his nose as he nodded. Even so, the slim glare in his eye shone, and a part of him secretly wanted Watson to pick up on it.

Watson put his hands over Holmes's and slid the watch from his fingers. Holmes fidgeted with a bit of the inside of his cheek between his teeth as the watch was slid from him, and broad hands fondled his own softly. He let his eyes flutter closed for a moment as the watch was turned from his fingers, one by one, to Watson's ever so delicately. His breath was shallow, he was tired and his neck began to lose its stiffness. Watson put a hand to Holmes's cheek, his voice broke through the foggy barrier "Honestly, you need to sleep more than just a few hours at a time." Watson looked fondly at Holmes, and then withdrew his hand.

"Are you kidding me Watson? I've hardly slept an hour per night this week~" Holmes jerked back into life as Watson moved and said,

"That explains a lot. Oh, and I'd like my clothing back, Holmes." Swaying some on his feet, Holmes smirked and told Watson, as he leaned down to pick up his hat and coat from the chair,

"You first" Watson pulled on the coat and hat, looking at Holmes for a moment then saying.

"You know what, never mind. I'll get them from you later." He took Holmes's arm and pulled him to the couch. "You're not getting anywhere without rest. Now sit down and sleep, Holmes." He smiled for a moment as Sherlock's eyes began to droop. Holmes slid gently into the horrors, miracles and absolutely, beautifully, deliciously complicated terrors that roamed his genius mind, keeping a firm grip on Watson's sleeve.


	4. A Brand New Game

Chapter IV – A Brand New Game

_A/N: Aha! Finally! Sorry this took so long. The reason was because I actually had to figure out the case and how stuff tied into other stuff so that was a bit more complicated than I wanted it to be but…in any case; read on, dear readers, read on~_

Out of all the preposterous things, Holmes paced. Out of all the irresponsible, outrageous things! Holmes paced again, then stopped and looked down, kicking at the books that lay at his feet until they flew across the room, almost as if they had wings. What in bloody hell was Watson thinking? Sure, he had technically invited the doctor back to Baker Street but really, coming here only to leave again with nothing such as a farewell! Holmes had managed to sleep a fair 12 hours with Watson forcing him into slumber, even if nightmares scattered his mind throughout the REM stages of his dozing. But then Watson was careless and just _left_! Holmes took a deep breath. And he was losing his touch, so unaware of his surroundings for no reason. How could this possibly affect him in such a way, what was the change in his environment that caused him to slip? Holmes glared at the books he had kicked; his brows were furrowed in constant contemplation. When the realization dawned upon him, very quickly as one might add, he scrambled around for his pipe. Diving over a few scattered cushions that lay strewn about the ground, he landed on his hands and knees a few inches from his dressing gown, which held the wooden pipe in one of its pockets. He lit up and fell back onto the cushions, sighing with relief as the effect slowly sunk into his lungs. Nibbling on the end of the pipe, Holmes tucked an arm behind his head. "No, not possible." He mumbled to himself. "There's no way I'm…" He stopped in mid sentence, a slight padding of footsteps were ascending the stairway. Holmes turned and looked up at the door as Mrs. Hudson entered the study.

"Oh, I see you're finally awake." Holmes jumped to his feet and began to climb over the rest of the mess towards her as she cleared away the untouched and cold tea.

"Brilliant deduction, Mrs. Hudson, so tell me, when did Watson leave? What time exactly?" Mrs. Hudson picked up the tray and looked at Holmes.

"I do believe sometime around ten thirty last night." Holmes nodded at her as she made her way out of his study. Once she had shut the door, Holmes listened as her feet met the soles of her shoes and pushed against the timber flooring in a decent of the stairway.

"Bloody bastard didn't stay long at all." He turned and decided to sprawl out on his couch. The detective's mind was in a whirl. _'Let's forget about Watson for now…'_ he thought as he settled.

_As for a review on the case I "so called solved" the other day; I know that woman and she had a small dagger hidden in the folds of her parasol. He had one hidden up his sleeve, the two policemen were a part of a watch- out so if anyone were to call then they'd be the closest and make sure he'd be out of trouble. But for what purpose? _Holmes's face scrunched slightly as he played back the scene in his head._ Looking closer, he saw the face of the bread woman…of course. Oh so brilliant, this was getting exiting. How wonderful. Now, what was she doing now? What was she up to? And what was the purpose of that scene? Clearly it was planned; the stagecoach incident would get people away so they could perhaps exchange something? Slip something to each other before…? _

_ Wait up, rewind, and let's try this again._

The scene played through Holmes's head once again and he opened his eyes with a slight smile to himself.

_Brilliant._ He leapt off the couch and scrambled over to the door, grabbing Watson's clothing and his own coat. He pulled his coat and a hat on as he donned the stairs, shouting through the flat. "Mrs. Hudson! The game is now afoot!" and thus, slamming the rear door behind him.

Disregarding most of the average happenings, Holmes practically ran to Watson's home. Reaching his doorstep, Holmes paused and listened for a moment before looking down at the lock. He scoffed to himself. "Really Watson, you never learn." A small pin that had sat in his pocket emerged and fit itself perfectly into Watson's door. Entering, he looked around. No be to be seen. It was about eleven now. Watson really should be awake, even if the reluctantly imaginable had occurred. Holmes hung Watson's coat and his own on the rack next to the door and ascended the stairs up to Watson's study. Praying that he be in there and not the other ridiculous place, he opened the door to the doctor leaning over his desk, appearing to be entranced in paperwork. However, a slight snore shook the doctor's body and Holmes smirked to himself. Straightening his posture, he closed the door behind him and wrapped his hands together behind his back.

"Always good to see you, Watson." He stated, looking around the room, almost uninterested. Watson jerked awake, sending papers flying.

"Holmes!" He coughed and stood up, clambering over the corner of the desk and the arm of the chair, in order to stand beside the desk. He looked at Holmes like he was dreaming.

"Oh you're very much awake." Holmes coughed and began to inspect various components of the room surrounding them. "Good"

"I wasn't sleeping, Holmes." Holmes ripped a book of the shelf and began shuffling through it.

"Oh, no of course you weren't. You were just resting your eyes." Watson scowled at the broad shoulders that were Sherlock Holmes ruffling through his personals…as always. Holmes snapped the book shut and returned it to the shelf, then turned to face Watson.

"I believe I have a new game for us."

"Holmes, you know I don't…"

"Believe me Watson, I just need you…" Their voices rose higher as they spoke over each other. "To do me a favour…"

"I have no interest in…"

"JUST this one." Holmes emphasized. Watson fell silent and looked at him curiously. "Just this one and I'll never ask for you again." Holmes looked genuinely at Watson for a moment.

"Yes, of course, then there'll be just one more and just one more! Sherlock you really can't seem to function well without me, can you?" Holmes looked at the doctor with surprise. He shook his head slightly, dark waves ruffling with motion. Taking a step back, the detective was, for once, genuinely surprised.

"You…Watson, my dear Watson, you are…" The sound of the door's creak cut Holmes off. He swung around to face the intruder and scowled.  
>Mary stood in the doorway. Her lip tightened at the sight of Holmes. Holmes turned rapidly back to Watson and said "You are something different." His sight held with Watson's. "This is important. I may have this case solved." Watson shook his head,<p>

"No, no. Holmes, if you had this case solved you wouldn't _need_ my assistance. Just look at how many you've solved on your own!" Holmes kept repeating Watson's name as he scolded him. "If you really need me then it isn't a real case, you are a perfectly capable, grown man, Holmes. You…"

"John." Holmes finally said firmly. Watson fixated his gaze, unblinking, on the detective. "I think _she_ faked her death." Watson took a deep breath through his nose and shifted his weight slightly.

_ "She?_ Holmes, you know what that means…"

"Yes, I know." The two continued to act like they were the only people in the room. To Holmes, they were the only people who mattered. Watson sighed again and ran a hand over his face. He paced back to the desk and sat down, sighing into the chair.

"The last time, Holmes. The _last one._" Holmes nodded,

"Of course."

"And then I will hear none of this. Are we clear?" Holmes now faced Watson over the desk and he whispered.

"Crystal." Watson nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer, and stood up.

"Mary, dear" She looked up from the doorway, her expression had morphed into a full-on frown, but instantly turned into a lighthearted, but painful, grin.

"Yes?"

"I'll be out for a bit, might be home late tonight." Holmes turned respectively between the two and murmured between his teeth as Watson spoke;

"Or not at all." Before smiling to Mary. Watson shot eye daggers at Holmes, as if psychologically telling him to behave. Holmes fell silent.

"Don't forget we're leaving soon, love." Mary reminded Watson, who groaned and nodded.

"Yes, of course." He responded. Watson stood up and walked over to Mary to lightly kiss her cheek. "I'll be off now and back by then." He looked over at Holmes and beckoned him through the doorway like a child or a puppy following his master. Holmes grumbled internally as he walked through the door, passing Mary and falling into step behind Watson as they reached the bottom of the stairs. _'I'm a leader, not a follower.' _ The duo donned their coats and stepped out onto the streets. Looking one way, then the other, Holmes smoothly slid in front of Watson and led him towards the very centre of town. Watson murmured through his teeth at Holmes.

"So you really think…?"

"I know, Watson. I saw her face."

"You can never trust what you see."

"I usually don't."

"So you know for sure?"

"Yes." Watson sighed as they continued, Holmes leading.

"Irene Adler…what could she be up to?"


End file.
